


The night keeps my secrets, the darkness has no tongue.

by H_Faith_Marr



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Excessive Exposition, Gen, Good Lotor (Voltron), Insecure Keith (Voltron), Insomnia, Insomniac Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lonely Keith (Voltron), Midnight Conversations, Morally Ambiguous Character, Naxzela aftermath, Near Death Experiences, No Slash, Past Suicide Attempt, Post-Episode: s04e06 A New Defender, Protective Lotor (Voltron), Reckless Keith (Voltron), Self-Esteem Issues, Sick Keith (Voltron), Suicide Attempt, a cub if you will, also how the show glossed over keiths issues like what, because galra are more lions than housecats you feel me, but also very very stupid, i guess, keith is smart pass it on, lotor got the short end of the stick and i tend to remedy that, lotor is thousands of years old and keith is a baby, lotor knows keith is a baby, morally grey lotor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-10 06:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20523257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H_Faith_Marr/pseuds/H_Faith_Marr
Summary: After nearly sacraficing himself at Nacxela, a shaken Keith is assigned a new task by Kolivan: find out what Lotor's motives are, and determine whether or not he should be trusted. This doesn't turn out at all like he planned.And Lotor, well, he's wondering who decided that a cub has any business in a war like this.





	1. Sleeplessness and surprises

**Author's Note:**

> So... I've been working on this for a while... And even though I have so many WIPs... I'm posting it here... I'm so sorry.

Keith never has problems falling asleep. On the contrary, with all the training and missions, falling asleep has never been easier. It's _staying_ asleep that's the hard part. Often he finds himself waking with a gasp, surfacing from nightmares like a drowning man, or even merely waking up by gradients until he is abruptly aware that he has been awake and staring at his own ceiling for far too long. 

Sleep had been easier when he had been living in the Castle of Lions, before he had left for the Blades. He doesn't know why, but he knows it as truth. A small part of him had used to harbour the secret hope that it would be that simple again, if he ever visited his old team. That hope is dashed after Naxzela, though. He doesn't sleep much at all, after that.

Stops sleeping entirely, as a matter of fact. Ironically, considering he is back in the castle as well now, under orders from Kolivan. _Observation_, he had said. Determining what Lotor is up to, if he can be trusted. A job that has fallen to Keith, as the semi-official liaison between Voltron and the Blades. Though, when he is being honest with himself, he has to question whether he is the best person for this mission if he has given up on rest entirely after one attempt that lead to nightmares (_memories_) of fire and death.

He had been so ready to die, that is one part of it. He'd do it again in an instant, for his <s>family</s> friends, that is another. Lotor, the man he has been sent to observe, the man he had been so relentlessly trying to kill during his short and reckless stint as the Black Paladin… He had saved his life. The third, and most difficult, piece of an unsettling picture.

Keith, as is his wont when confronted with situations and emotions he would rather not deal with, hides all of his turbulent thoughts behind a mask. The Blade’s mask is rather convenient in this, actually. He can cover his face completely, lest something slip through unnoticed cracks in his normally disinterested facade. 

He can't hide that way from his friends, though. They would guess that something is up, ask him what’s wrong, why he won't show his face. Someone would ask if he is hiding an injury, probably. And he supposes he is, in a way. He almost died in their last battle, after all. 

It has been two quintants since Naxzela, however, and Keith has somehow managed to lie so skillfully to the others that he has almost convinced _himself_ that he is completely fine. With some effort he convinces Matt and Coran to stay silent, and is assured that no one will know unless he tells them himself (an unlikely probability). So he graces Pidge with small, fond smiles as she rants about her latest project. Hunk plies him with new foods that Keith never refuses, praising his skill as more impressive than ever. The old bickering and banter between him and Lance is easily shrugged on like a familiar and well-worn sweater, though with softer barbs and a lighter tone than before, more friendly than aggressive. 

There is a cordiality between him and the princess, at the very least, and Keith holds a newfound patience for Coran’s long-winded tales… Still, there is a prickling of unease along his spine whenever he notes the wary berth he and Shiro have been giving each other, even if subconsciously. There is something wrong, there. Something festering under the surface, silent and (he knows, oh, he knows so well) eventually destructive, but he has no idea where to even start to fix it. His fault, in all likelihood. He brushes it off, ignores the small hurt in his chest that really isn't so small at all, and moves on with his day. 

He stays away from the lion hangers. He does not visit Black. He does not visit Red.

Lotor, predictably (or, if he thought about it, not so predictably), is the one element that leaves Keith constantly on his toes, alert and ready for anything. The prince is seemingly unconcerned by Allura’s blatant distrust, placid within his glass cell and more than willing to talk about the most mundane things if the paladins all wish to ignore his ominous portents and distrust his possibly vital information. Keith still finds it hard to face him, his instincts warring between boiling rage and shaken gratitude. 

He can't fathom his motivations, that is what Keith ultimately decides has set him so on edge, has so unbalanced him. He doesn't understand why Lotor would do this, putting himself at the mercy of people who so obviously hate and distrust him, allowing himself to be imprisoned after approaching them on equal footing. 

It occurs to Keith, as he ponders all of this in his old room long after everyone else should be asleep, that finding out the why is the real reason he has been assigned here. To find out why he did any of the things he has in the past quintants, including saving Keith from himself.

That thought sends him rolling out of his bed, too unsettled to bother even pretending to rest. Not like it’s doing much good anyway, when fire scorches the backs of his eyelids whenever he closes them and he can still feel the concussive blast of the explosion in his arms, in his very bones.

Hell, what more could he lose, at this point, if he were to just confront the prince directly? He is not stupid enough to think mere observation will get him the answers he seeks with one as sly as Lotor, nor does he believe he possesses anywhere near the amount of subtlety necessary to trick it out of him. Gambling on Lotor’s willingness to cooperate seems to be Keith’s only option. 

So. moments later, he finds himself padding silently down the hall under the dimmed night lighting of the castle, a shadow in black and marmorite purple. His mask will be useful, here, as long as he can keep memories from clouding his voice.

Lotor is not asleep, and Keith is somewhat grateful because he hadn’t thought about what he would do if he had been (a part of Keith had forgotten that sleep is common, useful, necessary). The prince is reading, something with an altean title, but glances up with a disinterested expression when the metal doors hiss open. An expression replaced swiftly by mildly intrigued amusement once he registers who is approaching his prison.

He placed a bookmark between the pages and closes the book, putting it down without once looking away from the dark figure on the other side of the glass. “You’re a bit small for a Blade, aren’t you?”

Keith fights how he bristles at that, but he’s sure that Lotor sees anyway. His voice is cool, steady as he can make it, as he replies, “I wouldn’t think so seeing as I _am_ a Blade.”

The man behind the glass raises a single, elegant eyebrow in an inordinately pleased look, then shifts so he is no longer lying on his side, elbows resting on his knees and his full attention on Keith. “I suppose so. Why then, little blade, are you here so late at night? I suspect this isn’t a courtesy call.”

He’s too _tired_ for word games, so he just asks him straight up. “What do you intend to get out of all this?”

The second eyebrow lifts to join the first. “Right to the point. That’s… somewhat refreshing. The paladins have been circling the issue rather uselessly.”

“Like you’re doing right now?” _Idiot, control your temper,_ he scolds himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. _Don’t aggravate the warlord’s son if you want information out of him._

Luckily, Lotor doesn’t appear to be offended. In fact, he looks _amused_ more than anything else. “Forgive my hypocrisy, then. You want to know what I want? That’s a rather vague question, but with a simple answer. I want my father and his witch dead.”

“And?”

The prince leans back, a smile flickering across his features. “And? What else is there to say?”

“That can’t be all,” Keith crosses his arms in lieu of a frown. “You had the resources to accomplish that ages ago. You’ve had ten thousand deca-phoebs of opportunity. And you certainly can’t do much as a prisoner here. Why would you need Voltron?” He narrows his eyes, though _that_ gesture is not one Lotor could see. “What are you going to do once the two of them are dead?”

Lotor throws his head back in a laugh, the sound of it rolling and compounding in the small room. When he looks back at Keith, he is grinning. “Finally, someone who knows how to ask questions! Though I suppose Marmora has a more personal interest in what happens to the empire once the cancer is removed, hm?”

Keith doesn’t know how to answer that, so he remains silent. Lotor nods as if that is a thoughtful reply. “Very well, seeing as you have asked the questions, far be it from me to withhold the answers. I do not merely want to kill them, you are correct. I want to eradicate any trace of their influence and turn the empire off a path that will no doubt lead to its destruction. And, loathe as I am to admit it, that is not something I could have accomplished on my own. Voltron has considerable influence itself –nearly a byword of power and control, if you will— and would be of immeasurable assistance in my endeavor. If they would _listen,_ that is.”

He sighs, propping himself up against the wall and muttering, “They act like _children._”

While Keith agrees with the sentiment, there’s still something he doesn’t quite understand. “But _why?_ Why even bother, once Zarkon and Haggar are out of the picture? There are others invested in this that could fix the damage over generations. Isn’t a ten-thousand-year-old wound too much for one person?”

There is a pause, and Lotor’s face sheds the last vestiges of light facetiousness, replaced with a grave expression that Keith can’t read any better. “I have a duty,” the prince begins, folding his hands in his lap. “To not only my subjects, but my people. That includes organizations like the Blade of Marmora, though I don’t doubt your leaders’ dedication to the cause. Groups like yours will, of course, be instrumental in such change as I have proposed. That does not give me permission to allow others to take up my task in my place. I have a duty,” he repeats, softer. “To the people of the empire, yes, but also to people like you, and the others of Marmora, who the empire has scorned, cast out, villainized for daring to dream of a universe at all at odds with how things are now. A better world.” He closes his eyes. “I am nothing if not loyal to my people, for I would be nothing without them.”

That’s… a lot to take in. Keith searches his words almost desperately for the lie, but all of it rings true. He feels odd, being included in such grand _declarations-claims-oaths_, and more than a little uncomfortable. He should report this conversation, right? At least to Kolivan. Kolivan, surely, would be able to parse how much of Lotor’s little speech should be believed. 

Another thought occurs to him abruptly and the question is spilling from his lips before he thinks to stop himself. “If being galra is enough for you to feel… obligated, to us, as you’re implying, wouldn’t that loyalty also extend to the princess and her advisor? The alteans?”

His guess (and it really is a guess, mere conjecture that he wasn’t sure would go anywhere…) seems to delight Lotor, who purrs, “My, you _are_ a clever one. Why yes, though I don’t think her highness would be too pleased if she were made aware of it, considering the… circumstance of my rather dubious welcome.”

“Wait a tick,” Keith’s mind had latched onto another possibility, a hunch more than anything else, and he tilts his head to one side in a subconscious gesture as he considers it. “_That’s_ why you’re so frustrated that Voltron won’t listen, isn’t it? Even though the paladins themselves aren’t altean, Voltron is, and the paladins are also under the princess’s protection… They’re not just a tool. This is personal too, on some level.”

“I would very much,” the prince tells him quietly, “like to know where Marmora found one such as you.”

There is such admiration, such stark wonder in his tone that the young blade cannot understand. He ducks his head, face hot. “I wouldn’t say I’m all that interesting.”

“Then you do yourself a disservice,” Lotor replies immediately. “Yourself and the universe at large.”

The boy’s knee-jerk response is to assume he is being mocked, but Lotor has been nothing but sincere this entire conversation, and if _that_ is not something to think about… Instead of any of this, he says, “I know many who would disagree.”

“Then they are blind,” the prince concludes simply. There is a pause, then he asks, “May I pose a question of my own?”

Keith straightens, instantly alert, but the other laughs. “I am not ferreting out secrets, worry not. You do not have to answer if you so choose.”

The assurance does not make him any less wary, but he finds himself acquising. “Alright.”

“To rephrase my query from earlier: is there any particular reason you chose to find answers now, when I am assuming all others on this ship are partaking in well-deserved rest?”

The interest catches Keith off guard, and he bites out a reflexive, “Why do you ask?”

“It is plain to see that you are exhausted,” Lotor informs him rather admonishingly, frowning in a way that makes Keith feel almost like a scolded child. “You have not been sleeping, clearly. Which on its own would explain the hour of your visit, but something tells me there is more to it than that.”

The boy lifts his head a bit in challenge, at the same time trying to appear disinterested. “Oh? So what do you think it is?”

“Voltron doesn’t know you are speaking with me.” A statement, not a question. “Nor your leader, I take it. And then there is the matter of _why_ you are not sleeping at this time of night. I can only speculate from there, but I would rather not. So I ask again… why are you here instead of resting?”

Odd, Lotor sounds almost… But why would he…? “Are you… worried? About me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” the prince deadpans dryly. “Or I’ll begin to think Marmora has been neglecting you.”

Something twists in Keith’s gut at that, but he shields it with a scoff. “Of course the Blade isn’t neglecting me. It wouldn’t do them much good if they didn’t take care of their operatives.” At Lotor’s skeptical expression, he adds. “I’m fine, really. I just don’t have the same sleeping patterns as the others here.” Not technically a lie, easily believable, and as an added measure he counters. “You weren’t sleeping either.”

“I see,” Lotor’s voice is low, coolly calculating. “If you insist. There isn’t much _I_ can do about it, anyway, locked in here as I am. Though I would assume nightmares of some sort would be an occupational hazard in your line of work.”

He is getting entirely too close to the issue, so Keith plays it off as best he can. “And the first thing I would do after having a nightmare would be to come talk to the emperor’s son who only recently decided he wasn’t an antagonist? Unlikely.”

“More likely if you had not tried to sleep at all, especially if you were assigned here for the reason I think,” he counters lightly, smirking in a way that says he knows he’s right. “Unless, of course, you’ve discussed this sleeplessness with someone else aboard this ship…”

When Keith doesn’t answer, the prince’s smile softens with a quiet, “I thought not.”

The silence that follows isn’t quite companionable, but then again, neither of them expected it to be.


	2. Selft-esteem and subtlety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor has some concerns.

It is easy to see that the young blade is entertaining the idea of leaving it there and dropping the conversation entirely, and Lotor knows that the chances of him returning are very low. He hadn’t meant to pry when pursuing the other’s state of rest and why it is so obviously dismal, but it is equally clear now that it is something the blade keeps close to his chest. Considering that along with his surprise at the prince’s concern, his rather questionable reasoning for Marmora’s care, his low opinion of himself… An uncomfortable picture comes to light.

So what can Lotor say that will catch the little one’s interest without scaring him off?

A question makes itself known, so he asks, “How well do you know the other paladins? You must have more than a passing familiarity to be chosen to work with them.” _Especially for one so young_, went unsaid. “I thought your leader might come himself.” _Let alone send a cub, out of everyone._

The little blade hesitates, choosing words as he subconsciously wraps his arms around himself. For comfort? For protection? His voice is low, thoughtful. “I knew the paladins before the Blades, and they, uh, helped me find them in the first place so I could… get answers to a question that had been bothering me. I became a Blade myself not long after, and as of right now I work as a sort of moderator, I guess.” He turns his head away, even though both of them know Lotor cannot see his face. “Kolivan is too busy to cut himself off from the Blade like that.”

“Cut himself off?” Lotor echoes, brow furrowed. “You cannot communicate with your base?”

“Outside of reports? I don’t need to. I don’t have any other jobs right now besides this assignment.”

The prince wants to ask what the assignment is, wants to ask _but what about your pride, your family?_ Wants to ask _if you do not trust the paladins that you say you know with even your sleep, do you trust them with anything at all?_ And, the most worrisome question, _are you truly so alone?_ But he holds his tongue, knowing that any of them would be unwelcome and likely would cost him any progress he has made with the cub. Though the knowledge that the young one before him is completely isolated, and seems to find no problem with that…

The man behind the glass sighs, drumming his fingers on his knee. He needs to keep the boy talking. That’s all he can do from here. So he asks what he believes is a safe enough question. “Why did you join the Blade of Marmora?”

Lotor realizes that he might have miscalculated badly when the little blade stiffens, almost hunching forward when his arms tighten across his chest. When he speaks his words are clipped, forcefully calm. “It was somewhere I could make myself useful, earn my keep without getting in the way. Somewhere I earn my place with every mission I complete, instead of resigning myself to being a burden.”

The boy could have slapped Lotor and he would have been no more shocked by it. This blade, this _cub_… and he sees nothing wrong with this? Do his superiors even know? If they do, they must surely be taking advantage of him. But a _cub_? How could they even consider it?

The little blade, Lotor is now convinced, probably doesn’t _have_ a pride, or at least hardly ever sees them. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found out the boy was out on missions too often to maintain any meaningful relationships, or build them in the first place. 

How could his leaders allow this? How could they treat this earnest, clever cub so? If Lotor ever gets out of this cell…

“It’ll be morning soon,” the little one informs him in a subdued voice, clearly doing some thinking of his own. “I’d better go… Thank you for your time and cooperation.”

“And you for yours, little blade. Do visit again.” And oh, how he hopes he will take him up on the offer.

The boy inclines his head slightly in farewell, and leaves on silent feet. In a matter of ticks, it’s like he’d never been there at all.

* * *

Not a word of their conversation is passed on to Voltron. Or at least if they are, the paladins don’t believe it. Lotor can tell because the small green one has asked several variations of “what are you doing here” in ways that seem to have been orchestrated to discover his “true intentions.”

They _are_ asking questions, which is a relief, and can no doubt be accredited to last night’s visit. Though, disappointingly but unsurprisingly, the little blade does not make a repeat appearance. The prince much prefers his quiet but insightful comments to this interrogation, despite the obvious intelligence of the interrogator.

(He successfully sidetracks her in a discussion on the uses of quintessence, and finds it rather enjoyable, all things considered).

Quintants pass in this manner, and each morning a new paladin appears at the door to take up the questioning. He is glad they have overcome their first mental block, but their next problem is equally as infuriating. Why bother asking a question if they will not accept his answer? He offers them secrets, information on the empire’s movements, schematics of hidden bases, tactics to oppose imperial soldiers and sentries. But at every turn they doubt him, cross-examine his words, and go to unnecessarily extreme lengths to check his facts. The only good thing to come of this colossal waste of time is that the paladins are (painstakingly, slowly) being forced to believe him.

He has not lied to them. Not even once. Though he also has not mentioned a certain conversation from the third night of his imprisonment, but if the little blade has not told them yet, then Lotor will keep it a secret.

As the quintants stretch into movements, however, and as the paladins’ strained words turn civil and, eventually, almost friendly, all without the prince so much as catching a glimpse of the little one… well, suffice to say that Lotor is beginning to become worried.

It’s the turn of the princess and the one called Lance (who wears the blue armor, but pilots the Red Lion, for some reason) to question the prince, though he believes it is time to turn the tables. Once the two step through the door, he mildly inquires, “Do the Blade of Marmora have no questions they wish to ask me? To be truthful, I had originally expected to be dealing with them more than you.”

It is somewhat telling that they don’t answer right away, first sharing an apprehensive glance. The princess is the one to speak, words careful. “I will ask their representative if there is anything they wish to know.”

_Their representative,_ she says, distancing herself. _If there is anything_, as if there might not be. 

The princess ducks out of the room, and the blue-red paladin mutters something about assisting and disappears after her. Lotor spends the rest of the day left to his own devices, and would admit to a bit of brooding. He could understand why the cub would not go to those ones because of dreams.


	3. Suspicions and shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second conversation does nothing to alleviate Lotor's concern. In fact, he only has more questions, and the answers remain tantalizingly elusive.

The next morning, they release him. 

There are rules, of course. He cannot leave the ship without an escort, though he is made to understand that this is partially for his own safety. He is not allowed in any of the rooms containing the machinations of the ship (though most of the paladins are not either), nor the lion hangers or personal quarters beyond his own. He accepts these terms, finds them reasonable, even if he would have liked to see the great lions up close or learn all the secrets of altean engineering that had been lost for thousands of years that he might glean from this ship. No, as much as those pursuits would be of interest, he has a much more important goal in mind.

He has not seen nor heard from the cub in over a phoeb, and it is exactly as difficult to track down the young spy as Lotor had expected it to be. 

The first time he sees him, it is out of the corner of his eye late one night. Lotor had taken to wandering the halls when sleep eluded him, and now it appears he’s not the only one. A flash of movement in his peripheral, a shadowy figure that is too small to be any of the paladins but the green one, whom he had left in her lab, asleep, not too long ago… but when he turns there is no one there, already gone to wherever he has been secluding himself. 

The next encounter is not so much seeing him as much as the evidence of his presence aboard the ship. The black paladin courteously shows the prince the training deck, and as he demonstrates the rather admirable technology that controls the settings of each bout, another screen catches Lotor’s eye. It appears to be a score chart, listed by date but with small rankings attached to each entry. The most frequent combatant is someone listed simply as ‘K,’ who seems to train at all times, and most frequently at night. He cannot help but be impressed by his scores, each entry ranked first above all others. This is how the prince knows his little blade is keeping busy.

The third is an actual face to face meeting and exactly what he has been waiting for, predictably in the middle of the night cycle. Lotor, for reasons he cannot quite explain, had been forced from his bed by some restless pull in his gut. So now he sits quietly on the kitchen floor, nursing a cup of what the yellow paladin calls ‘tea.’ A sound from the door draws his attention, and he looks up.

The little blade hovers awkwardly on the threshold, as if unsure of his welcome in a place that is far more his than Lotor’s. The hood of his uniform is pulled low over the glowing eyes of his mask, and his arms are once again crossed, whether for his comfort or protection Lotor would rather not guess. He shifts his feet, seems about to draw back—

“Join me?” Lotor invites on impulse, voice soft as he indicates the floor next to him. “You are not interrupting any important soul-searching or existential musing.”

This elicits a quiet snort from the younger, who moves to settle a marginal distance from the prince. The small victory sends an electric thrill under his skin, but he does not act on it. Instead, he holds his peace, allowing the quiet to encourage the other to speak.

At least, that is the plan, until Lotor realizes that the boy is just as comfortable with the silence as he is with all other aspects of the night. He merely toys with his luxite blade, seemingly content to settle for simple companionship if conversation is not offered.

But Lotor has questions.

“I was wondering, little one,” he begins smoothly, noting how the other’s gaze flickers up and away. “What I have done to offend you?”

The cub’s head jerks up, surprise etched on every line of tension in his body. “What?”

“You have been avoiding me,” he states simply. “I had thought it was something I had said that scared you off.”

“You didn’t scare me off.” He looks back down again, running his thumb over the edge of his knife. “I was just… processing.”

“Processing.”

“You gave me a lot to think about, and there were already other things I was dealing with at the time, so… yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and Lotor wonders if he realizes how expressive he is, even with the mask. 

Carefully, carefully, Lotor prods. “Other things?”

“Naxzela,” he replies shortly, suddenly tense, and the prince believes no longer entirely present. “Naxzelawas… pretty rough.” 

_I almost died,_ Lotor reads between the lines (but there’s something else there, something he’s missing… Where was this cub in the battle?)

“Not to mention,” the boy adds, just as stiffly. “I’m still trying to figure you out. A few phoebs ago I was trying to kill you, then you show up and save… all of us,” _me_, Lotor hears, “and then you go and give a pretty speech about loyalty and duty and now I don’t know what to think.”

“Nor I,” the prince admits. “You and your allies are baffling, to say the least.”

The cub huffs, shaking his head. Something warms in the prince’s chest when the boy looks up at him (Lotor can almost see the half-smile under the mask) and offers, “A game, then. A question for a question, an answer for an answer.”

It’s a rather brilliant idea, so Lotor follows along. “Are any topics off limits?”

“If they are, we just don’t answer and another question is asked.”

Simple, efficient, and thoughtful. The prince smiles. “Why don’t you go first?”

“Uh,” he hesitates, trying to think of –or pick— a question. “How are you getting along with the paladins?” And after a beat asks, “and what do you think of them?”

Lotor is slightly taken aback, and actually pauses to consider his answer. “The small green one, Pidge… I had thought her intelligent the first time I met her, even though her skepticism is unfounded, and once she explained to me how most on her planet believe they are alone in the cosmos, well… I have to say I am even more impressed with her grasp in intergalactic technologies now than I was before.

“Hunk, the yellow paladin, is… generous, though he does not strike me as a warrior. A gentle giant, if you will. Though I do believe the meals I have had here are more delicious than many that I have tasted across the universe. And he does seem to hold an infinite reserve of patience and concern for others. 

“Lance… I don’t quite understand. He wears the blue armor, but he is the red paladin? And he cannot seem to decide whether he is in a mood to jest or to quietly observe. Also, though I might be imagining it… he often appears unsure of himself, especially around the black paladin.

“Now, that one truly is an enigma. He is polite enough, but there are times when he seems… not quite cold, but authoritative and controlling. He is kind, after a fashion, but there is something… but no, it wouldn’t do to speculate.

“As for the princess, while I do not believe she trusts me, I do admire her ability to keep a level head. Her father would be proud of her diplomacy, I would think. Though I do wonder… If memory serves, pink was the color of mourning on Altea. Whom does she mourn?”

The young blade listens in silence, nodding along, and once the prince is finished presses, “But you are treated well?”

For a brief, irrational moment Lotor wonders if the cub _isn’t_, but quickly suppresses it, and answers truthfully. “Yes, I am. And I believe it is my turn.”

The little one nods, and clearly braces himself for whatever he may be asked. 

It hurts, a bit, so Lotor settles on an innocent enough question in an attempt to soothe his paranoia. “The black paladin gave me a tour of the training deck, as well as the training logs. I must ask, why do you train alone?” At the puzzled tilt of the other’s head, he amends, “If you are K, that is.”

He shakes his head in amusement. “Yeah, I’m K. That’s not… Why wouldn’t I? I’m capable of handling myself.”

“Your capability was never in question,” Lotor assures him. “I was merely wondering why you don’t train with the paladins? I’m sure they wouldn’t turn you away.”

“They’re a team,” the boy tells him as if that answers everything, and before Lotor can press he asks, “Is it my turn now?”

The prince holds his tongue and motions for him to go ahead. 

“Why did you attack Voltron on Thayserix if you’re so insistent that you’re supposed to protect them or whatever?”

He would think it a mocking question if not for the innocent curiosity with which it was asked, so he replies with due honesty. “I needed to test them, to see if they were at all prepared for the goal they had set themselves, or the mantel they had taken up.”

“They disappointed you,” the cub acknowledges in a neutral tone. “They did not live up to your expectations.”

“Not in so many words,” the prince counters slowly. “I had heard stories that at the time seemed exaggerated.”

The boy shakes his head vehemently (when had he become so protective of those who so clearly do not return the same level of care?). “The lions had switched paladins just before that. Shiro had… gone missing, in their last battle. Black claimed Red’s paladin, and Red claimed Blue’s. Then Allura stepped up.”

Which leaves an interesting picture: Shiro returned and once again their leader, the red paladin wearing blue, and the princess in mourning colors. Although…

“How do you know this?”

There’s a grim humor that does not belong in a cub’s tone when he asks in return, “Is that your question?”

“Yes,” if it is of such importance, “yes, it is.”

The little one tilts his head back against the wall with a sigh. “It was before I joined the Blade. I’d been living here for a while, and I know the red paladin better than any of the others.” He seemed to find some level of amusement in that, but his tone is darker when he continues. “He didn’t want to lead. Or leave Red. Or any of the rest of it. And losing Shiro hit him harder than the others. He loved his team, would die for them if asked, but he knew he wasn’t the leader they needed. Lance supported him, but…”

After a pause where it becomes clear that he won’t continue, Lotor takes a deep breath. “What happened to him?”

The young blade holds his silence for a moment, then murmurs. “I don’t want to answer that question.”

There is such distress, such melancholy in that small voice, that Lotor only says, “Okay,” and their game of questions ends there. 

Coincidentally, this is when Hunk steps into the kitchen, freezing mid-yawn when he sees its current occupants. His eyes fix almost instantly on Lotor’s companion, who in turn releases a startled squeak that he will no doubt deny later, but is endearing all the same. 

The prince sits back and sips his tea, content to watch the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter in this update, so make sure you read chapter 2! Chapter 3 is halfway written, but I don't know when I'll have time to finish it... Encouragement is appreciated!


	4. Softness and sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lotor puts a few pieces together, and learns a few other things as well. 
> 
> And Keith, as usual, is a bit dumb for a smart kid (but we love him anyway).

“Where have you been?” Hunk exclaims, still standing dumbstruck in the doorway. “Man, I was almost beginning to think you’d snuck off the ship to go back to the Blade, but that sounds more like Lance than you. Or, it used to be, except Lance is acting weird, and something’s off about Shiro, and Pidge is refusing to sleep until she finds her dad—”

“Hunk,” Keith cuts off his rambling with a weary laugh. “It’s good to see you too. Is it morning yet?”

“Nearly, I was just going to start breakfast.” Hesitantly, as if just remembering what he walked in on, he gestures between the two on the floor. “You guys good?”

Keith smiles softly, hidden behind the mask. “We’re fine, Hunk. Want any help with breakfast? I’m decent with a knife.”

This earns a snort from Hunk, and a low chuckle from Lotor, who has contented himself with silent watching. The yellow paladin continues to grin like it’s Christmas morning and readily accepts the offer. 

Keith leaps nimbly to his feet, the world spinning slightly as the blood rushes from his head, and then looks back down at Lotor expectantly. 

The silver-haired man’s smile widens as he stands, turns to Hunk. “Would you be able to find a use for a third pair of hands?”

“Of course,” he agrees easily, and the former red paladin wonders when the yellow became so comfortable with the prince. Comfortable enough to hand him a knife and some plants similar to green onions, while casually asking, “What do you think of the tea? I’ve been trying to perfect it.”

And soon Keith is working alongside the both of them, allowing their conversation about hot drinks and dried herbs to soothe the disquiet in his bones and pounding ache in his head that had inspired his nocturnal wandering in the first place. His sleepless nights after Naxzela had been unsustainable, so he had once again attempted to sleep only a few movements later. It was only a couple hours, however, before he jolted awake with a scream trapped by clenched teeth and fire under his skin. That was another handful of movements ago, and each subsequent endeavour only leaves him anxious, restless, and (as much as he <s>fears</s> loathes to admit it) lonely. He is glad Lotor had invited him to sit, though less glad of the turn the conversation had taken. The man’s last question still bothers him.

_What happened to him?_

He’s gone, Keith wants to say. That paladin no longer exists. He left the castle, with no intent to return, and died. All that’s left is his shadow, but that’s okay. The Blade of Marmora works better with shadows. But in this moment, it is almost painful, because those who knew that paladin miss him, so obviously, even in the presence of his shade. He’s dead, Keith wants to tell them. Dead and gone, the one you see is merely a shell. The one you yearn for failed you, again and again, and now a void wears his face. 

But he can’t say that, because he can’t bear the thought of hurting those he cares for further.

Instead, when Lotor and Hunk are too deep in discussion to notice, he serves himself a small portion of the pseudo-omelette they had made (unsure that he can stomach any more than that) and slips out the door. His silent feet take him without prompting to the library. He supposes that after companionship (with the training deck still closed for the night), books are a suitable next comfort. At least this way, he can make the world disappear for a while (and maybe forget about the throbbing pain building behind his eyes, and the paper-thin too-warm sensation of his own skin, and the unsettled churning in his gut...). 

He tries not to think about how the world could have easily disappeared entirely, for him, if Lotor had first arrived only half a moment later.

* * *

No one sees the cub for the next few quintants, and then Lotor literally stumbles over him outside his assigned suite of rooms on his way to breakfast. The prince crouches down where the boy is stirring, still half-curled outside Lotor’s door. 

“What are you doing here, little one?”

The man’s voice is soft, but the blade flinches at it all the same. No more than a twitch, but it is enough to set alarm bells ringing in the prince’s head. He gently places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but quickly retracts it at the keen of distress the little one makes as he curls in on himself further. His tiny frame is wracked with shivers, and he has yet to say anything. A horrible suspicion rises to the forefront of Lotor’s mind.

Apologizing softly, he gathers up the shaking cub in his arms, the lack of protest beyond quiet whines only fueling his worry. 

It takes him an irritatingly long couple of dobashes to reach the infirmary but –thank Sa— the mustachioed advisor/mechanic/paternal figure/medic is present, checking over various machines.

Lotor announces his presence with a harried “Something’s wrong with the young blade,” and all of the altean man’s attention is fixed on his charge.

Not even a tick later, Coran has the boy on a medical bed, glancing once at the prince before reaching to press something on the edge of the marmorite mask. It dissolves with a faint trail of light, and the altean moves on to begin stripping off the rest of the suit. Or so Lotor assumes, since he has not moved his gaze from the boy’s face.

He looks like the paladins, that’s the first thing the prince notices. That, and the pallor of his skin contrasting sharply with the smudged, bruise-like shadows under his eyes. To think, all this time, Lotor hadn’t been the only half-galra on this ship. Though, looking at him now, the prince doesn’t think he would have known he was galra at all if he had not known he was of Marmora.

Come to think of it, hadn’t Pidge mentioned that the planet all of the paladins were from is pre-contact? But that would mean… he hadn’t known. The boy had no idea about his heritage.

Lotor remembers that first conversation, so long ago. _I knew the paladins before the Blades,_ the cub had told him, _and they, uh, helped me find them. So I could… get answers to a question that had been bothering me. I became a Blade myself not long after._

And in light of Lotor’s recent discovery, that could mean so much more than the halting explanation implied. If the green paladin had not lied, it could be easily concluded that the young blade had been raised on their homeworld (Earth, was it? An odd name…) with no idea about, well, _anything_. This also meant that, somehow, they came in contact with the elusive Blade of Marmora, and if they made it that far it would probably be fair to assume that their experiences up to that point with the galra would have been far from positive. They would not trust Marmora in the slightest, but… _a question that had been bothering me_. Lotor know better than most that Knowledge or Death was Marmora’s way, and so the boy must have taken the Trials. If that is so, and there was truly so little time until he joined Marmora himself…

Oh, poor cub.

“Excuse me, Prince Lotor.” Coran taps his arm, and motions towards the ill boy. “May I?”

Nodding once, throat strangely tight, he steps away from the boy’s head and watches as the ginger man fusses with various instruments and wires, until the small figure on the bed is hooked up to all sorts of contraptions. Lotor can’t help but think it makes him look so much smaller.

The advisor taps his arm again, and silently offers the chair placed by the head of the bed.

“Thank you,” the prince murmures, and slowly sinks down next to the boy’s still form.

“He’ll pull through,” Coran assures him as he fiddles with a datapad. “Keith’s a tough one. After some rest, he’ll be good as new!”

_Keith_. So that’s his name.

The next few vargas consist of multiple visits from the paladins (though none of them stay for more than ten dobashes), and the occasional shifting of Keith’s tiny figure, though never when the others are around to witness it, and he never wakes.

That is, until twelve vargas after Lotor had first brought him to the medbay. He stirs, discomfort written clearly in his tense movements, and the prince quickly raises his head from where he had rested it on his arms, prepared to soothe. Instead, he freezes at the sight of violet-grey eyes with constellations of their own. 

“Lotor?” And oh, he sounds so confused, so unsure. His words are hoarse, and almost too quiet to hear. “What— Where…?”

“The medbay,” the prince informs him softly. “We’re in the medbay. I found you outside my door, shivering and near unconscious, so I brought you here.”

“Oh.” His voice is small, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Lotor blinks, incredulous. “Whatever for?”

“Bothering you?” But even he doesn’t sound like he knows for sure.

“It is no burden,” Lotor assures him, though his brow creases in concern. “When did you become so ill?”

“I’m not _that_ sick,” the boy –_Keith_— argues, but his protest is weak. “I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

The prince can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes him. “Stick to half-truths, little one. You’re a terrible liar.”

Unexpectedly, Keith releases a breathy laugh of his own, and relaxes further into the bed. “So I’ve been told.”

“You shouldn’t be talking anyway,” Lotor admonishes him good-naturedly, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You sound awful.”

The cub hums in response and, after a brief pause, tentatively rasps. “Tell me a story?”

Surprised, but warmed, Lotor smiles. “Of course.”

But what story to tell? A nostalgic childhood memory from thousands of years ago? An old legend from Daibazaal? A tale of one of his and his generals’ adventures? An account of some sort of historical achievement the cub is no doubt ignorant of? So many choices…

Ah. Lotor’s grin widens. He has the perfect story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Which is it gonna be? Lotor's childhood, an old galra fairytale, an adventure with the gals, or some historical headcanon? You get to decide! Vote in the comments!
> 
> **EDIT:** The votes are in! We're getting an adventure with the gals!


	5. Stories and secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor tells a story to a sleepy Keith. It's more angsty than it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have three things to say!
> 
> 1\. Sorry for the wait.
> 
> 2\. College _sucks_.
> 
> 3\. This is shorter than the others, but like, still sizeable I guess.
> 
> Enjoy?

Keith watches through lidded eyes as Lotor settles into a looser position. If it weren’t for the strange fog that has settled behind his eyes, he would almost say he is excited for whatever story the prince has to tell. 

The man clears his throat and adopts a far more rolling, lilting speech pattern as he begins. “Before you were even a gleam in your mother’s eye, I wandered the universe.”

Keith wonders how old Lotor thinks he _is_, then remembers that Lotor is probably thousands of years old. It is probably best not to dwell on it too much.

“I wandered alone,” the prince continues, with an odd, quiet melancholy, “with only my thoughts and the distant stars for company. But the wonders I saw! The secrets of whole worlds rested in the palm of my hand. Wherever I trod, I discovered new wellsprings of knowledge. 

“Though all of the wisdom of space and time could not alleviate the weight of my solitary existence. Of all the different peoples and worlds I had experienced, none ever saw me as a fitting companion. Not even the people of my empire truly saw me as one of them. I was only half. Lesser, despite being their prince. There was nowhere I could go where I would not be alone.

“That is, until I made the most important discovery of my long life. On a small planet, on the edge of the empire’s influence, there was a trading colony. On that trading colony, I found a child, walking the streets on her own.”

Lotor leans forward and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Now, you must understand, this in itself is not unusual. War is a terrible thing, and often leaves many poor souls to fend for themselves. Ordinarily, such an encounter would not give me undue pause.”

He sits back, and before Keith can respond adds, “though that does not mean I would ever _leave_ such a child in that state. I would find someone to care for her, under normal circumstances. This child, however, was already an outcast. Half-galra. Rejected by both of her peoples, merely because of her nature. Like me.

“Her name, I learned, was Narti. She was blind, an inheritance from her mother’s people, who had no need for sight on their home-world, connected to it as they were. Her galra blood, however, prevented her from making such a connection, and thus left her more alone and isolated than even I was. Though, this did not mean she was helpless.

“Her mother’s heritage granted her a powerful mind, the ability to read and speak in thought. One touch was all she needed to project pictures, ideas, words directly into one’s mind. Needless to say, I was impressed. And she, in turn, appeared impressed by whatever she had gleaned from me. With no words spoken between us, she joined in my wanderings.

“And so I found the first of my companions.”

Lotor goes on to tell how Narti bonded with Kova, his mother’s pet, and how one by one he came across the other half-breed girls who had eventually become his generals. How he had found both Ezor and Zethrid in a travelling circus, but as coerced performers rather than employees, and how he had freed them to do as they pleased, with them deciding to tag along to see the wonders of the universe from the outside. How he had come across Axca in an underground gladiatorial arena on a central galran colony, because she had nowhere else to go, and how he offered her a place with him and the others. 

But, really, Keith misses half of it, drifting in and out of consciousness. He doesn’t know if it’s some kind of drug Coran is feeding him through the IV, or if he’s really that sick. The storytelling isn’t really helping him stay awake, no matter how fascinating the content.

Lotor’s voice is soothing, rhythmic, and inexplicably Keith is reminded of his parents. Of his father’s comforting rumble as he pointed out constellations from where he lay on their roof next to his son, recounting the stories associated with each. Of his mother’s gentle lullabies, the ones he hardly remembered and might only have dreamed. 

But if that was the case, they were such nice dreams...

* * *

When the cub’s eyes finally flutter shut, Lotor carefully lowers his voice until he trails off mid-sentence, and returns to watching the boy’s troubled sleep. 

He had never told anyone the story of how he had met and gathered his generals. To be fair, he had never needed to. The story only matters to those who have lived through it, anyway. He isn’t quite sure why he told it now,

(That’s a lie, of course he knows. This cub is just like Narti, isolated and alone. He’s just like Ezor, jumping through hoops for a place to belong. He’s just like Zethrid, staying in one place because he can’t help but care, like she had stayed for Ezor. He is just like Acxa, fighting because there’s nothing else for him. He’s just like Lotor…)

No, he can’t think this way. The cub is Marmora’s, even more _Voltron’s_ than his.

(He is galra, though, one of his people. It’s his _duty_… His privilege.)

But he doesn’t have the means to act on that right now. He can only support the cub with what he has, and hope it is enough. Though it probably isn’t, what with how he became so obviously ill right underneath the noses of the entire castle, and how he still clearly isn’t resting, among all the other evidence that Lotor is slowly compiling. 

The prince wonders about why the cub had chosen _his_ door to curl up next to in his delirium, about why he had told no one that he was sick, about why he continued to deflect how long he has been ill. He wonders about how he distances himself from both Voltron and Marmora and yet still lets them claim him. He wonders about how he knew the red paladin and defends him even after he’s gone. He wonders about how his first impression of half of his heritage was ruthless violence, about how someone so young would not see active battle in even the empire and should not be part of a war at all.

He wonders about Naxzela.

His musing is interrupted by Coran’s hand on his shoulder, the advisor’s gentle, chiding smile enough to convey his meaning without words. Lotor gives him a small nod, and rises, entrusting the cub to the altean’s care. 

He would do no good for the cub if he keeled over from sleep deprivation himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to hear more about my personal headcanons about the generals and where they met Lotor and why they joined him, hmu in the comments. If there's enough interest, I might actually add more about them in the story, who knows.
> 
> Anywho, see you on the next blue moon where I actually update one of my fics.


	6. Soldierlings and sleepovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting sick Keith, and some fun plans!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I have no excuses.

The next morning is… interesting, to say the least. Breakfast is a quiet affair, each paladin throwing together their own meal and going about their day individually, murmuring soft greetings as they pass each other but otherwise not pausing in the slightest. The atmosphere of the tower is oddly subdued, but Lotor is quite sure he knows the reason. The paladins are not _entirely_ emotionless, after all, merely distracted from what should be more important. 

Lotor slows his stride to the medbay at that thought. Do _they consider it more important? They are_ Voltron, _of course they have a duty to the universe… but how can they claim to help when they cannot care for one of their own when they have need?_

He steps into the doorway and pauses again, watching silently as the green paladin, Pidge, murmurs quietly to a half-awake Keith. Something she says earns a soft laugh, and Lotor takes the opportunity to scrutinize the two of them. 

Keith is still sick, still tired, but… is that a smile, playing at the edge of his mouth? He really does care about the paladins, then. And Pidge, perched next to the bed, is explaining something to him with quick gestures., though she appears worn as well, with dark bruises under her eyes and a slight slump to her posture.

She is tiny. Lotor knew this before, but now he wonders… what if it is not just a quirk of their species? What if she, too, is naught but a child?

How could the princess condone sending one so young into battle? How old are the others?

<s>(How old, really, is the princess?)</s>

The prince straightens and steps lightly into the room, tuning into the conversation as Keith responds to the girl’s rant, a tad impishly. 

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?” 

“_Keith_,” she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms in disgruntlement. “I thought jokes like that were Lance’s thing.” 

The bedridden boy sinks further into the pile of pillows that had accumulated while Lotor was out, uncharacteristically relaxed. “I don’t know why you aren’t talking to Hunk about this. He’d be the better person to help.” 

“But you managed to maintain that hoverbike in the desert.” Pidge reminds him pointedly. “You have actual, hands-on experience in the area.” 

He snorts. “Barely. I could fly the thing, and made sure it didn’t explode. That about sums up my skill in the area.” 

“Why do I get the sense you are understating your abilities?” Lotor muses, finally making his presence known as he sits across from Pidge. “Pardon the intrusion.” 

“Lotor!” Pidge greets him with an enthusiasm cultivated over many diverting discussions about the Empire’s technology. “Tell Keith that he’s smart enough to help me figure out what’s wrong with the hover-function of my new project.” 

He turns a slightly scandalized look on the cub. “I have never had any reason to doubt your intellect. Of course you could provide whatever assistance is necessary.” 

Keith’s face flushes a peculiar shade of pink, and he ducks his head to hide it in the blankets and pillows he is swamped in. “I’m a pilot, not an engineer.” 

“A good pilot knows how to repair his own ship.” Pidge states with a grand sweep of her arm, and adds in dramatic fashion. “And it is common knowledge that you are the best pilot to come out of the Garrison since Shiro.” 

“_Still_.” 

Lotor can tell that they aren’t going to get much else from the conversation (more’s the pity, he would like to hear about that ‘experience’ with hover technology Pidge had mentioned) and so asks. “Are you feeling any better?” 

The cub tilts his head back to meet Lotor’s eyes, the violet skies of them just as startling as the first time. “I guess? I’m just…” He shrugs, eyes closing as his head falls forward again. “Just tired.” 

Lotor frowns, and is about to press for him to elaborate on just _how_ tired, when the red-blue paladin skids into the room, arms near overflowing with multi-colored pillows. 

“Ha! Not _all_ the pillows! I found more!” He checks himself at the head of the bed when he sees Lotor, casting a quick, affronted look at Pidge and Keith’s muffled laughter before sheepishly offering a small grin to the prince. “Ah, didn’t see you there. Hey, Lotor.” 

“Hello, Lance.” He raises an eyebrow as Lance attempts to juggle the pillows into position to stuff around Keith. “Do you require assistance?” 

“Uh, sure.” 

Plucking the most precariously placed pillows from the boy’s dubiously secure hold, the man carefully tucks them around Keith in the approximation of a nest. 

The cub shifts to accommodate them, shooting Lance a wry smile. “Are you sure these are all going to fit?” 

Lotor steps back to give the two paladins space to interact with the cub, and takes a moment to piece together something that should have already been clear. 

They _like_ Keith, and he reacts easily towards them. If Lotor only had this scene as evidence, he would assume they were friends. Then why does the cub hide himself away? Why does he not seek comfort from them? Why does he act as if he is on his own? 

And why do they not notice? Has it not occurred to them that he pulls away when they aren’t looking? That he is too tired? Too thin? Did even _they_ not realize that the cub was ill? 

There is something here that Lotor is missing, some vital part of the picture that is left blank. 

And Marmora. How does he get along with the agents there? Like Voltron? Like _him_? 

There is a tug on his sleeve. “Hey.” 

He looks down at Pidge. “Yes?” 

She jerks her head towards the door, glancing back at where Keith and Lance banter lightly. “I need to talk to you.” 

Intrigued, Lotor follows her outside and down the hall a ways before she stops. She glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, then turns to face him, a seriousness in her expression that he hasn’t seen since she was interrogating him in that glass cell. “You care about Keith, right?” 

He blinks placidly at her, and decides a question with such an obvious answer doesn’t merit a response. 

“Yeah, yeah, I already know,” she waves a hand dismissively. “You spent _vargas_ sitting with him, of course you do. Just… needed confirmation. Do…” And here she pauses, bites her lip. “Do you know why he’s acting like nothing’s wrong?” 

Lotor takes a moment to process her words. “I’m not quite sure what you mean.” 

Her face twists, guilt and self-deprecation and concern melding together in a bitter cocktail. “We weren’t exactly the... greatest, when he left for the Blade. He has every right to be angry or bitter or _something_ at us, but he’s just…” She huffs, fidgeting with her glasses. “It’s like he’s pretending nothing _happened_, like everything's normal, except he doesn’t…” 

She waves her hand again, this time looking for words she can’t find. 

Something clicks into place. “He doesn’t let you close enough for you to tell when something is amiss.” 

Pidge blinks, eyes widening. “Yeah, that’s it! I _knew_ I was missing something…” Her mutters trail off, and she slumps. “That explains a _lot_ of it…” 

“If it’s any consolation,” Lotor offers, a tad disquieted himself. “He doesn’t confide in me either. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t seem to want to rely on anybody. That does not sit well with me.” 

She snorts and shakes her head. “Same here.” And here she pauses again, thoughtful. “Do you think… that we can fix it? Us paladins, I mean. Do you think he’ll let us get close again?” 

“I would not be the one to ask,” he points out. “I have not known him long. Though, in all fairness, I doubt it could hurt to try.” 

She ponders that for a moment, then snaps her fingers and marches back to the medbay. Bemused, Lotor follows, and watches as she nearly breaks the door in an attempt to throw it dramatically open, and announces to her audience of two within. “We are going to have a sleepover!” 

“A… sleepover.” 

Pidge, grinning at her own brilliance still, turns back to him over her shoulder. “I guess you could call it traditional Earthling bonding.” 

Lance pokes his head around the doorframe, beaming. “You should join us, Lotor!” 

The prince tilts his head to one side, silently questioning. 

The blue-red paladin steps out a little further to lean against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “You’re pretty cool, y’know? Plus, Keith seems to like you, and the sleepover is for _him_, after all. So, why not?” 

“Indeed.” Lotor side-steps the two of them and addresses Keith, who is half-turned in the medical cot to watch what he can see of the conversation. “Have you even agreed to this?” 

Keith’s mouth quirks upwards in amusement. “Would it stop them if I hadn’t?” 

“No,” the prince admits ruefully with a glance at the other two. “Probably not.” 

“Hey!” 

Lance’s overdramatically incredulous cry of protest is what finally tips the balance, and seconds later Keith is clutching the edge of the medbay cot to keep himself from toppling off in a fit of silent laughter. Even ill, he looks bright and content in the presence of the paladins, unprecedentedly calm and open. 

Perhaps… Lotor was a bit hasty in his judgement of the paladins... 

And his judgement of Keith himself. 


	7. Sacrifices and shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cub tilts his head back to look at him, so _tired._ That makes Lotor hesitate, despite his instincts screaming that he cannot leave whatever is lurking under the surface here to ferment. The little blade is ill, exhausted… This must feel like an interrogation.
> 
> But Lotor has to know, or something like this will happen again.
> 
> They meet eyes, and Lotor presses. “Truth or dare.”
> 
> And, as inevitable as the shifting stars, “Truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. Ha, ha.... long time no see? I'm not dead?
> 
> Also sorry in advance for like, the choppiness? Or whatever? I'm not overly happy with this chapter, tbh, but it's useful to set things up for something else in the future...

No matter how far back he reaches in his memories, Keith honestly can’t recall the last time he had been to a sleepover. It is also entirely possible that he just never _has._ Which is not something he’s going to say out loud, for a variety of reasons. One being the fact that fevers make it a little difficult to guide the words from his brain to his mouth sometimes (another thing he’s only discovered recently, all things considered. He didn’t talk to a lot of people before, let alone while he was sick), and another being that he _really_ doesn’t want to get into his past with the paladins right now.

But back to the point. He can’t remember ever having a sleepover, and so he really can’t tell if what Lance and Pidge is orchestrating is what a typical one would be like. Hunk being sent to make snacks makes sense. Convincing Coran to tie dye a bunch of sheets? Stacking a bunch of altean books in the middle of the lounge like a jenga tower? The rather drastic fort they’ve constructed using both of those, complete with little fairy lights that might actually be on fire and odd contraptions that might be altean board games? Unexpected, and a little off-putting.

And then Lance announces that the first game to play at a sleepover is obviously Never Have I Ever. 

Keith has the distinct feeling that he’s not going to like this game.

Still, he sits with the others as Lance explains the rules. The shared glances with Lotor when the other boy gesticulates excitedly only adds to the entertainment value. It’s not like it’s going to be _that_ bad…

“Never have I ever crashed my ship in an attempt to show off,” Pidge announces smugly, and Keith takes back last thought, refusing to meet Lotor’s eyes as he puts one of his five fingers down.

Lance was being annoying, okay? And he had _just_ started flying Red. Blind, he might add.

“I feel that this game is unfairly biased against the long-lived,” the prince comments, a tad dry, and when Keith sneaks a glance he sees that the man has placed his own finger down as well.

Hunk, the only one besides Pidge with all ten fingers, frowns disapprovingly. 

“Me next!” Lance claims, grinning. “Never have I ever threatened the ruler of a planet.”

“You’re targeting me,” Keith accuses, putting another finger down and glancing at Pidge. “Is that allowed?”

Lotor, Keith notes, also puts a finger down. Not really surprising, all things considered.

Hunk takes his turn before an argument can gain traction. “Never have I ever tried to make spaghetti in a kettle.”

_“Hunk!”_ Lance whines. He throws up his hands, now down another finger. “I trusted you with that!”

“Never have I ever,” Keith starts, smirking at Lance. “Flirted with a mermaid.”

“Keith!” The look the other shoots him is incredulously offended, and _so worth it._ “Now who’s targeting?”

Lotor hums, the last to go for the round. “There’s not a lot I haven’t done in ten thousand deca-phoebs. How about… It’s low hanging fruit, I’m sure, but never have I ever had a sleepover before now.”

Ah, the thing Keith had already decided he didn’t want to tell them. Fantastic.

“Really, Keith?” Hunk leans forward to grab a handful of the neon purple space-popcorn. “Never?”

“Not even once.” The confirmation tastes bitter on his tongue, and he purposefully does not think about why that is. “Never invited to one either.”

There’s a brief, uncomfortable moment of silence.

“Never have I ever!” Pidge bursts, nearly knocking over the space-popcorn bowl. “Uh… ejected myself into space?”

“All of you,” Keith grouses, putting his third finger down. “You’re all against me.”

Lotor is staring at him, brow furrowed. “You… ejected yourself into space.”

“Well it was that or get shot, so.” He shrugs. “Not like I had a lot of options.”

“What in Sa’s name could you have been doing to have your two options be _get shot_ or _eject yourself into space?”_

“Sneak into an Imperial warship to steal the Red Lion?”

The prince opens his mouth, then closes it without saying anything. 

Clearing his throat, Lance shoots another grin at Keith, though this one has a slight waver. “Never have I ever punched a commanding officer in the face?”

Okay, Keith is so done with this. “I’m starting to think you had ulterior motives for suggesting this sleepover. “

“What, me? Never.”

Ignoring Lance, Keith turns to Hunk with his best deadpan glare. 

“Ah…” Hunk swallows, eyes flicking away. “Never have I ever built a satellite out of garbage?”

“Your day is coming,” Pidge promises ominously, putting a finger down.

“Never have I ever worn a face mask.” Keith makes eye contact with Lance triumphantly, watching as his last finger goes down with a groan.

“Never have I ever,” Lotor begins slowly, and wow did he look away from Keith at all this entire round? “Piloted one of the Lions of Voltron.”

Blame it on the fever or Keith’s own stubborn nature, but he doesn’t break eye contact as he puts his final finger down. So he knows. What’s that going to change? He’s not a paladin now, so it doesn't matter. 

Pidge claps her hands sharply. “Let’s play a new game!”

* * *

“Truth or dare!” Lance crows. “I haven’t played that in _ages.”_

He hasn’t even been _alive_ for ages, Lotor muses, still off-balance after his last realization. Children, all of them, playing games in the middle of a war. The paladins are all child soldiers, roped into a destiny they could not have possibly asked for. His little blade, _Keith,_ was a paladin once upon a time, and isn’t that something? He’d made it sound like he had merely known the previous red paladin, that he had died…

But that still doesn’t clarify why he’s with the Blade now, instead of back among his team. 

Lotor blinks as something else strikes him. Keith had said, that night, that the Black Lion had claimed Red’s paladin… which was Keith. The kit is a former leader of Voltron.

Paladin of Red and Black within Voltron, a Blade of Marmora, distanced from both, and still too young to even see a galran battlefield. That among the revelations of the last game… Ejecting himself out of airlocks, assaulting commanding officers… Isolated from his peers from a young age? He had sounded a tad acerbic when his lack of experience with sleepovers was brought to light, and the other paladins had acted as if it were unusual to have never even been asked.

“Lotor!” The mischievous voice of the green paladin snaps him out of his reverie. “Truth or dare?”

So it seems he’s missed the first portion of the game. And his staring has not gone unnoticed, if the cub’s fidgeting is anything to go by. He finally turns his face away to answer Pidge. “Truth.”

Might as well give what he is expecting to get.

She leans forward eagerly, eyes shining. “What is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in front of a crowd?”

“Embarrassing,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “That’s difficult. Probably my first anonymous fight in the gladiatorial arena where I found Axca. She was very good, and I had underestimated her for her youth. She had hardly reached maturity, and I had been travelling and fighting for a few thousand deca-phoebs. It was a wonder she only sprained my leg rather than broke it.”

Nodding sagely, as if she in any way understands how… feral that match got, she waves a hand. “Satisfactory answer. Okay, your turn.”

When he turns to Keith, the little blade doesn’t look surprised. Resigned, more than anything, and apprehensive. 

Lotor wonders how long it will take for the cub to trust him. If it even is something as simple as earning trust.

“Keith,” he says, enjoying the way the name feels in his mouth. It suits him, a sharp strike followed by something more hushed. “Truth or dare?”

The boy’s eyes harden, and the prince knows he’s not going to make it easy for him. “Dare.”

It takes an impressive amount of will, if he does say so himself, not to scruff the impudent cub. Instead, he regards him cooly, and dares, “Next time I ask you that question, choose truth.”

Keith’s mouth twists, but he nods and looks away, shoulders tight. “Hunk,” he calls at length. “Truth or dare?”

The kindly yellow paladin looks between the two of them anxiously, clearly aware of the rising tension. “Uh… truth?”

The sudden laser-focus on Hunk is startling, even for Lotor, but the prince can see the thoughts churning behind those constellation eyes. The side of his mouth tugs sideways —not up or down, but out, uncertain. He seems to decide on something, though, because his face smooths out as he asks, “You used to joke about being the head when —when we formed Voltron. Do you think you’d ever want to actually be the black paladin yourself?”

The question, understandably, takes him off-guard. “Uh, no, probably not. That’s… a lot of responsibility. Of course, you know that, why am I even telling you. But yeah, I’m anxious at the best of times, I don’t think I could handle that kinda pressure, y’know?”

Keith blinks once, then nods and looks down, seemingly lost in thought.

Hunk spares a few nervous glances for him as he turns the ritual question onto the blue-red paladin, but Lotor has once again tuned out, more focused on the cub. No one asks the boy anything else, until Lotor is once again called upon. He completes some silly dare with a flip and a flourished bow, then turns with single-minded focus. 

The cub tilts his head back to look at him, so _tired._ That makes Lotor hesitate, despite his instincts screaming that he cannot leave whatever is lurking under the surface here to ferment. The little blade is ill, exhausted… This must feel like an interrogation.

But Lotor has to know, or something like this will happen again.

They meet eyes, and Lotor presses. “Truth or dare.”

And, as inevitable as the shifting stars, “Truth.”

“Is your tendency towards self-isolation a recent development, or have you practiced avoiding people before you left Earth?”

Laughter is not what the prince expected as a response, even with the sharp cacophony of _something else_ behind it. “I never needed to practice that, Lotor. It’s easy to avoid people when no one bothers looking.”

Before he has a chance to process that, Keith moves on to dare Pidge to draw on the advisor’s face, whether or not he’s asleep. 

Once again, Lotor cannot make himself pay attention to the task at hand. Speculations and worries whirl around his mind, accumulating in the dawning realization that he has imprinted on this cub. In all his ten thousand deca-phoebs of life, he’s never grown so invested or concerned over any galra, let alone one so young or so alone or hurting so dearly. 

Lotor is picked once again, though the red-blue paladin appears hesitant to do so. Lotor easily reveals the story behind his first kiss, including whatever details are asked of him. It was so long ago, anyway, not nearly as important as the listing, half-drowsing child before him.

“Keith,” and before the prince even has a chance to ask the cub sighs.

“You’re going to keep asking until I say truth anyway, so truth. What, do you want my entire tragic backstory?”

Yes, if only to help him actually heal from whatever tragedies he’s faced, but now is not the time nor the place. Instead, he says, “There is only one question that I find pressing as of now. Keith…. Cub. Where _were_ you, during Naxzela? What were you doing before I arrived?”

Brief anger. Fear. Resignation. “I was trying to break through the shield protecting the control ship. Our weapons weren’t working. And no, before anyone asks, I wasn’t planning on telling anyone.”

Lotor takes a moment to let that sink in. He nods to himself once, firmly, then sets to wrapping the cub in as many layers of blankets that he can. The little blade protests, though his surprise throws him off and his sickness renders him too weak to effectively ward him off. As soon as he is thoroughly bundled, he _does_ scruff him, and tucks him under his arm. Casting a light glare around the circle in warning, to stave off the unavoidable wave of concerned questions. 

Once the cub is all healed up, however, all deals are off. This isn’t the kind of thing you keep from your team, even if you no longer consider yourself one of them. And it is not something Lotor can let lie in good conscience, but he thinks he should have a word with Marmora’s leader before he sits the little blade down to discuss it. 

He chooses a light tone to prod, “Now, who do you want to ask next?”

Despite his clear confusion and bafflement, as well as the lingering bitterness and wariness, the cub picks Lance as his next victim.

The game steers out of dangerous territory into something more light-hearted, and Lotor is hyper-aware of the moment a small weight leans fully into his side. And if he smiles a little more widely than usual at the paladins’ antics, well, the only one who would have a right to call him out is nuzzled into his side, fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case people are wondering about why Keith's giving this stuff up so easily and why Lotor is so fixated on getting answers... well Lotor said it. Keith's sick, and Lotor has galra instincts waking up and shouting very loudly. This also plays a part later, but shhh.
> 
> Also! If anyone wants to attempt to get me to write faster (as conversation or comments are wont to do), I _do_ have a discord (though it is mainly populated by BNHA right now...) so join us! https://discord.gg/CbWgjaT


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